


Where Never Fell His Foot

by TheWaffleBat



Series: So Stand Stricken [4]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Amnesia, Bullying, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Selectively Mute Link (Legend of Zelda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaffleBat/pseuds/TheWaffleBat
Summary: He’d not been so close with Daruk as he had been Mipha or Urbosa, but he was friendly enough and he never seemed to mind Link keeping his words to himself; accepting it in the same way he accepted most things about their strange little group. They’d been too different to be close - Link hadn’t really liked Daruk’s loudness, his bleeding of his own personality into everything he did or said. He was too loud in some ways, burning too bright to look at, at least for Link.Link had never been that close to Daruk, but that doesn't mean he can't miss him.





	Where Never Fell His Foot

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Edna St. Vincent Millay's _Time Does Not Bring Relief_

Link helped at the stables all day when he came down from Death Mountain, fireproof elixirs still bitter on his tongue and his fireproof armour having rubbed and chafed his skin raw; it was painful instead of hard work, because the hay stabbed and stuck in his half-burned skin and the dust itched those patches where the armour had rubbed worst. Urbosa’s scars on his arm ached deep in his bones, like the thrum of power when lightning struck the ground right beside him, but Daruk hurt worst of all in his forearm where a shield was usually held.

He rolled over in bed, staring at the wall, but tried not to shift too much. The bed was comfortable but narrow, and even though Link was small - would be the first to say so - it wasn’t built to handle a Hylian, a dog, and a wolf of uncertain origins that sometimes appeared in a cloud of descending black… _things_. He didn’t want to kick them, or push them from the bed.

Wolf was warm and loyal against his feet, snoring softly and keeping all the curious eyes on him instead of Link and his scars and the marks left by Death Mountain that didn’t fade even after an elixir and a good meal pushed into his hands by a friendly old woman travelling with her son. Wolf played dog for the children, chasing sticks for them like he sometimes played with Link, and happy to take the scraps they fed him, though he still came begging to everyone else too.

The stable dog, Spotty, was perfectly happy to be held in Link’s arms, cuddled like small toy he remembered having when he was young - a horse, big and strong but made by his mother of whatever spare, soft felt she had on hand, he’d called Epona. She’d kept him safe the way Spotty and Wolf were keeping him safe now; easing a lonely ache in his heart that made him scrub at his eyes because he wasn’t a _child_ , he’d handled Mipha’s loss and he’d handled Urbosa’s, had made his peace with Revali, and he _knew_ how to deal with Daruk’s.

He’d not been so close with Daruk as he had been Mipha or Urbosa, but he was friendly enough and he never seemed to mind Link keeping his words to himself; accepting it in the same way he accepted most things about their strange little group. They’d been too different to be close - Link hadn’t really liked Daruk’s loudness, his bleeding of his own personality into everything he did or said. He was too loud in some ways, burning too bright to look at, at least for Link. His friendly punches _hurt_ , not out of any meanness - Link didn’t think he’d ever been capable of that - but because he didn’t really know how to measure his strength. A little like a huge, galumphing puppy, but massively strong.

Link stroked through Spotty’s soft fur, wondered if she was used to going to people who were hurting. Link had saved lots of groups of people attacked by monsters, but he didn’t like to think about the ones he hadn’t because he wasn’t awake then, or because he wasn’t around to lend his sword. Lots of people lost loved ones, or friends, when they were travellers; maybe Spotty just knew, in that unerring way of dogs, which people were the saddest, or the loneliest.

Regret that he’d never thought to become closer with Daruk weighed heavy as Daruk’s soul weighed heavy on his shield arm, hung there like the sturdy pot lids he first used to use to train because he was a bit too weak for proper metal shields. He’d seemed permanent in the way Death Mountain seemed permanent; unchanging and eternal, like he’d exist forever. A familiar landmark, weathering over time but still there, still happy and kind Daruk.

He’d helped, Link remembered suddenly, when Link had trouble with some of the soldiers. They’d been teasing him because he was short, and had to ask for help reaching the sword oil on overhead shelves because everyone else was normal sized. They’d always teased him for it, and because Link preferred his silence, his listening. He’d always liked listening more than speaking, liked hearing other people talk about what they loved most even if it was only a farmer about his potatoes or a fletcher his arrows. Mipha had taught him how to want to speak for people, and Urbosa was the one to let him babble endlessly about his animals because she _was_ interested - asking about picking stones from hooves and did dogs really eat anything dropped on a floor, edible or not? - but Daruk had been the one to care about his silence, had been more than willing to fill an entire conversation by himself because he was the only one who had trouble adjusting to his Divine Beast, seemed to like going to Link to share those problems because Zelda had enough on her shoulders as it was.

Daruk had wandered into the armoury, looking for a weapon to train with, and he’d seen Link stood there like a stump because he was angry and because he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a reaction but _really_ wanted to give _himself_ the satisfaction of hitting them, paralyzed by indecision because it wasn’t _fair_ , there were enough problems in his life already with a mystical sword on his back that chose him for no reason, a kingdom to save when he could barely stand up to a small cluster of people teasing him, and the knowledge that he was supposed to be better than to give them what they wanted.

And then Daruk had been there, stood like a bulwark between him and the soldiers whose names had been so important _then_ but were a dim collection of mumbled sounds now, and he’d made them cringe away to a different corner of the training yard with a glare and expertly drawn attention to his massive-even-for-a-goron bulk. He’d said nothing about it after that, just kindly taking Link aside to help him use his own meagre weight as best he could. But Link had noticed, later, that those soldiers were always assigned as Guardian Wranglers after that.

Yunobo didn’t understand why Link wanted to go away from Goron City so badly, but he didn’t suddenly have memories of walking those unchanging streets with Daruk, remembering his laugh filling the city itself, or so it seemed like. Didn’t suddenly remember Daruk proudly showing Link off, praising his bravery that didn’t really seem like bravery - he just had a duty to do, and he’d do it even though he thought it was incredibly likely he’d fail. Yunobo looked up at Daruk’s statue and saw the legend, but Link looked at it and remembered the man who got stuck in a doorway he hadn’t realised was too small, or crushed a wooden bed beneath his weight. Link remembered Daruk walking down the paths that hadn’t changed, stopping at a general goods shop because he had some things he wanted to buy, and Link had walked down those same paths, maybe even in the places where his feet had fallen, and he hadn’t even remembered it.

He’d wanted, come down from Vah Rudania completely and utterly drained, to be as far away from Death Mountain and all the places Daruk had once been, filling every space, because he _wasn’t alive_ to fill those spaces anymore. It was hard to know he was gone when Link suddenly remembered him because it seemed like he’d only been alive just yesterday and he’d come stomping down the streets, bellowing songs as he always did and it _hurt_ to remember he wouldn’t ever do that again.

So he’d gone, and he felt bad he’d left Yunobo without a word but Link didn’t want to worry him any more than he already was, and knowing that Yunobo was Daruk’s descendant made something twist and ache high in his chest because Daruk must have had a child before his death, a wife, a _family_ , and it was because of his too-kind heart he’d gone to fight the Calamity, and it was because of Link and his inability to… he’d… it was Link’s _fault_ he’d never gone home, Link was sure of it.

Spotty stretched out, and Daruk in his shield arm went especially heavy, like a reprimand; Link could almost imagine what he was going to say. _“Don’t blame yourself Little Guy,”_ He’d laugh, good natured as he clapped Link’s shoulder with too much strength, _“I knew what I was getting into, and that I might not survive it. You didn’t make me come fight; I wanted to.”_

Link gripped Spotty’s fur and pressed the soles of his feet a little more against Wolf’s chest, wanting to feel their solidness when everything seemed like it was melting away. He tried to remember that.


End file.
